The Diary of a Pyschic Vampire
by Lupe Fiasco
Summary: (Loosely based off Dark Visions) "And now I'm here, talking to some cop who doesn't give a shit about the big, bad Cain kid. He probably deserved it for being a murderer," he sneered. His face was set in anger but his eyes gleamed with something else, something just below all that rage and iciness. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter One

When you look the way Derek Souza did, it was easy for people to forget you're a kid. It really wasn't like he asked to be a hulking six-foot-six, with the two hundred pounds of a linebacker to back up his intimidating height. It wasn't just the height; he came to realize, as he grew older, it was what he did.

When he was five, he killed a bird in his backyard by pressing his forehead to it when he looked for breath. At ten, he lashed out with all his anger and sent a classmate to the hospital in a disarray and panic, screaming at something no one could see. At fifteen, he killed a girl who kissed him and got shipped to an Institute for murders and rapists.

Now, a year later, he breathed in the fresh, Buffalo air and adjusted his duffel bag so the strap wasn't cutting into his throat. He closed his eyes and felt the air rush through his hair, filling his lungs. He was out and he could see the clear sky above him, the sky shining down on his pale skin, warming him.

"Derek."

His head jerked up in a nod of acknowledgement to his brother, Simon. The blonde boy was leaning against the Cadillac, a giant smile across his mouth and his arm around a gangly redhead with spiky hair. They looked like fire and sun; Simon blazing a golden sonar flare and the redhead a burning ember in a fire.

"Nate," the redhead said, smiling wide. Dimples flashes. His green aura flexed against Simon's orange. "Get your ass over here," Tori demanded as she swung out of the backseat. She hadn't changed a bit, maybe filled out more in the hips, and wore her hair in spiky chunks. Liz launched herself over the backseat too, scrambling over next to her girlfriend, a beacon of happy sunshine next to simmering purple.

His head hurt from all the auras.

oOo

Derek glanced at the familiar neighborhood, quiet townhouses and condos, cars flying by; kids played in the yard and moms chatted over cool beers. Same familiar houses and green grass, manicured to perfection. He felt a wave of indignation for their cookie cutter molds.

"Someone moved into the old Banks' house," Liz called to him, pushing her face next to his arm to reach the stereo and change it to some pop music. Kit slapped her hand away absently and she drew back with a pout; Derek leaned back in his seat and watched the trees rush passed, one long, continuous blur of green.

"A lawyer and his daughter," Kit added. "Her aunt," Tori butted in, a scowl crossing her face, "is a total _bitch_." Derek shook his head and relaxed a bit when he saw his dad's look of annoyance at her speech. "Well, she _is_," she pressed on, her scowl deepening as she flopped back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her hair was a shock of black-blue in the soft, Buffalo sunlight and, with her jaw set, she looked like a temperamental princess.

"Tori," Kit began with a warning tone. "She _is_! She's _always _working and when she isn't, she literally sits out there and judges everyone who fucking walks by!" Tori's voice shrilled and the noise reverberated painfully in Derek's head, making him clench his hand into fists.

"She is," Simon said softly. Tori quieted and began to fume, her expression blacker than night. Derek's ears were ringing with the feedback of her verbal screaming and his eyes watered. "You okay? You look a bit…well, paler than usual." Kit's golden eyes glowed. Derek shrugged and looked away. _Yeah,_ he thought dryly, _I'll just have to go back to hell when September comes and face the judging mouths and hungry stares. Oh, and the fact that people's emotions make my head pound and the mental feedback is like an audio track set to built in microphone without headphones, screeching in my ears. _

They pulled into the driveway and the sight of his old house knocked his breath away. It was a normal sized townhouse, with white siding and light grey shingles. The two door garage rolled open and the lawn was immaculate, probably Simon's doing.

"We didn't touch your room," Kit explained as Derek went to climb out, his heart pounding. "Thanks," he muttered as he slammed the door. Several heads turned, eyes inspecting him from heat to toe but he ignored it; by now, he was used to the stares.

After killing a girl at fifteen, it was hard not to get stares.

He shook himself fiercely and forced his legs to move; mechanically, he unloaded his bags and brought them to the front porch. When he turned for the last load, he blinked against the midday sun. "Chloe!" Tori's shrill voice rang from across the drive and Derek twisted himself slightly, glancing to the side.

A pretty girl was walking over from the old Banks' place, blonde red hair cascading around her back in half dry curls streaked with cherry red, her big blue eyes round and framed by pale lashes, and her cream skin that was decorated with freckles sunburned around her cheeks and shoulders.

"Oh," she said lightly when she noticed Derek lurking on the steps and she smiled wider, white teeth flashing in the light. "You must be Derek." It wasn't a question; it was statement. "I'm Chloe. I moved in a few months ago." Then, without another word, she turned and walked over to Tori, who quickly pulled her close and began to whisper in her ear.

Pieces of her hair caught the sun and it looked like gold. He pulled his eyes away from Tori's new friend Chloe and unlocked the door. The smell of home rushed at him and he breathed deep.

Time to head upstairs.

oOo

His room was still his room. Blue walls and dark green carpet; the shelves were barren of sports trophies or computer games. Books piled high, college level. He sat down gingerly on the bed, feeling the frame creak under his new weight. The bedspread had been recently washed and its creases were ironed away. The room smelled stale, the air dry, but the room was immaculate, as he had left it a year ago. He turned to his computer and noticed the book open still, untouched by his family.

_They didn't touch my stuff at all, _he realized slowly as he sighed in relief. Pulling the key from around his throat, he unlocked the drawer at his desk and pulled out a small black notebook. He snapped the leather elastic off it and flipped to the first blank page he crossed.

With a ballpoint pen, Derek began to write for the first time in a year. _Dear Future Me…_


	2. Chapter 2

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter two

It was weird to wake up in his room, not hearing the screaming of the other inmates or squint through the blurred, perverted auras to see. His bed was warm, the covers smooth against his legs, a sharp contrast to the cold beds and rough blankets of his jail. The air didn't smell like wet concrete or the disgusting, sloppy gruel they claimed was food. His ears weren't ringing from the shouting and his eyes weren't watering from the blank walls.

It was a slap in the face when he opened his eyes and saw that old poster he'd thrown up on the ceiling, some Johnny Depp movie he'd seen as a kid. Pulling himself into the upright position, albeit crumpled, he glanced around his room, taking in his surroundings quickly. Clean floor, messy desk, crumpled clothes on his rolling chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and turned his head towards his window.

It was that girl from yesterday, the one with red blonde curls. For a minute, he let himself watch her. Rising from her bed fluidly, she stretched not unlike a cat, shaking out the kinks in her legs and arms. Behind her, a picture caught the glare of the sun. It was a dark-haired man with a kind smile, a smaller version of the blonde seated between his left side and the right side of a curvy woman with similar hair. Around both their necks were pendants, although the little girl's was red while the other one was blue-purple.

Quietly, so as not to disturb her, Derek pulled himself out of his bed and shut his blinds tight. After picking up some clean clothes, he headed for the shower. He needed a nice long, hot shower and a shave.

He picked up the razor.

oOo

Clean-shaven and slightly damp from the shower, he made his way down the stairs. A quick glance outside told him it was barely even seven. If that was the case, what was that Chloe girl doing up so early? He had an excuse; after being stuck in jail for a year where they jarred you awake with alarms and you never really even slept with all the screaming going on, you pick up the habit of waking up early.

The house was still and he basked in the calmness, his ears ringing from the silence. For once, he couldn't hear the myriad of thoughts from his family or see the bleary colors of their emotions. It was a sweet silence, one he wasn't accustomed to. Ignoring the shaft of light coming through the windows, he made his way to the front door and opened it.

Much to his surprise, there was little Chloe, head ducked down as she concentrated on something. "What are you doing here?" Derek barked and the sound of his voice startled her; with a yelp, she shot upright and stumbled back. He caught glimpses of her dumbstruck eyes as she struggled to get her balance. With an eyeroll, he leaned forward and grabbed her arm, calmly pulling her towards the door and unknowingly himself.

"Sorry. You just spooked me, normally no one's up and I leave a note so they'll know where I am." Her smile was easy going but her eyes never left his, leaving him a bit exposed. "A note?" His brow rose as he stepped out of the doorway, the toes of his boots flush with her pink sneakers. She blinked, flashing pale lashes. "I jog behind your house." Growing a bit pink, she forged on, pulling the loose curls from around her face and pinning them back. "There's—"

"A trail. I remember." Now he was intrigued. "Why not run in the park?" He leaned in close and she shrugged a shoulder. "I like the scenery," she explained, pulling a wristband from her arm and securing her hair in a high ponytail. With her hands free, she knelt down on one knee and began to tie her shoelaces. "Plus, the park is closed for a few weeks."

"Why?"

The sun peeked out from behind the dark; green leaves as the wind rocks the branches, emitting a hollow sound and a soft rustling. Rays of sun sparkled in Chloe's hair. "A couple of girls got killed yesterday." His stomach dropped to the ground. "Mila Andrews and Amber Long." He remembered the dark-haired girl with two moles under her right eye; she was always a happy girl, with a huge smile and huge hoop earrings. Mila had always chassed after him, before he got shipped off at ten. Amber was one of Liz's friends, a fellow cheerleader with curly, dark-blonde hair and summer-tanned skin, always bouncing on her heels with a loud, braying laugh and boyish voice. He remembered them pulling him out into the yard to play, Amber in jeans and Mila in shorts, grass stained and chipped grins, soccer balls and footballs under their feet.

When Chloe looked up, her eyes never wavered; he felt a sharp twinge of surprise. This little blonde was full of surprises. He sucked in a breath. "Really? How?" He realized how close he was to her and backed up a bit, lingering against the door. Chloe's brows furrowed as she squinted up at him, the sun reflecting in her ocean eyes. The freckles on her face stood out against the sunburn peeling on her skin, flakes crawling across her nose. She rocked back onto her heels. "It was yesterday. It was early in the morning, maybe a bit around six—"

_That's the time I was released. _

"—And my friend Ramon was jogging through the park with his girlfriend Rae and their…er…boyfriend. When Liam and Rae stopped to catch their breath and take a water break, Ramon headed on, only to trip over something sticking out a bush he was passing. He'd found Mila's body. A few feet away, where Liam and Rae where, was Amber's." Chloe paused, heading down the steps. "What's weird is that they had all their blood and there wasn't a sign of any trauma but their hearts weren't beating and they were cold as ice." She laughed suddenly, nervously. "This isn't gonna be like those vampires that feed on people's life force, right?" Her eyes were shining but she looked a bit uneasy.

He shrugged and watched her bound down the steps. His eyes followed her even after she disappeared around the side of the house but he stayed on the porch, listening to her footsteps crunch through the dead leaves, growing softer and softer. Derek sighed and stared up at the blue sky.

It looked like someone else was a psychic vampire. Closing his eyes, he sat down and put his head between his knees. His brain was so quiet, so still, and his eyes—His heart skipped a beat as his stomach tightened. Why hadn't he realized it before Chloe didn't have an aura? How was that possible if the only people who didn't have one were dead? Come to think of it, he hadn't senses any thoughts from her.

What _was _she?


	3. Chapter 3

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter Three

As hard as he tried to put the run in with Chloe out of his mind, he couldn't. He found himself looking for her everywhere, peering over his shoulder, searching for those curls, his ears perking up at the mention of her. It was really grating on his nerves, frying them really, and he forced himself not to look for her, to just relax and take in his old town, the old building he used to visit and try to ignore that horrible ache when he heard the whispers.

It was always the same. "Bad kid." "Monster." "Killed her." "Shouldn't be allowed to walk among us." It made him sick to his stomach, _adults _judging him for something he hadn't meant to do, a mistake.

He was out with Tori and Liz at the local ice cream parlor when the whispers started. He had been leaning back against the counter, watching Liz try to pick between pecan and pistachio ice cream while Tori complained loudly, hand on her girlfriend's back and the other holding her cone. His own sweet was in a paper cup, nearly overflowing onto his fingers as he surveyed the scene.

Older couples and soccer moms with rowdy kids occupied the tables and booths, trying to look unaffected by his presence but he saw the judging eyes and tight, pinched mouths. "Isn't that Cain's kid?" "Yeah. He just got out of jail yesterday." "For what?" "Killed some girl when he was fifteen. Cold blooded bastard." His stomach twisted painfully as Liz made a choice of pistachio and he calmly paid, ignoring the bewildered look the young kid manning the counter gave him.

"Oh," gasped out a breathless girl behind him.

Derek twisted around at the voice behind him and stared. Chloe's arms, legs, and face were pink with sunburn and her hair was dark with sweat. Her tanktop had sweat stains and her shorts were dark with the substance that gleamed on her flushed face. "Hey, Derek," she greeted calmly as she stepped up to the counter, peering in on tiptoes. The whispers intensified as she picked out a double scoop of cookie dough and, as she fished around her pocket, he found himself leaning over to pay. "My treat," he said, waving the bill at her. Her eyes sparkled. "Thanks."

"Did you hear them?" Liz asked as she licked the dribbles off her fingers, walking out into the hot sunshine. Derek grunted. "They wouldn't shut up," Tori hissed, shooting the people near the windows a dark look. As soon as she did, they went back to their dairy but he could see their mouths moving, eyes accusing and gaping at him like he was some kind of dangerous thug. "They're just…" Chloe's arm brushed his. He tried to blink. "…Close-minded assholes," she finished quietly, brushing her damp hair away from her red neck.

He couldn't speak, couldn't even _begin _to imagine what they were saying, even though he had a _pretty _good idea. "It's fine," he muttered, watching her lick away the ice cream from her wrist, and looked away, face warming. He'd never gotten so flustered over a _girl_. The last one…"You okay?" she asked, peering at him with kind eyes. His voice came out raspier than he liked. "Yeah, fine," he croaked and crushed his cup, ignoring the splatter of chocolate ice cream leaking down his fingers, onto the concrete, right between his sneakers.

A quick look into her eyes told him she didn' t believe him but he forced himself not to care.

oOo

The air was too dry and his hand was sticky. Derek leaned over the sink in the mens washroom, scrubbing at the ice cream wedged under his ragged nails. They'd decided to swing by the park on the way back and he could hear Tori shrieking and Liz laughing. Chloe's musical snort followed. He stared at himself in the mirror. Same old eyes, same choppy hair, acne-scarred cheeks and slightly crooked nose. He looked the same, but he also looked sadder, older, like he'd seen the worst in people and gave up.

The door swung open and three men shuffled in. The two larger ones had baseball caps, the third had on a hoodie. He ignored them firmly until he saw movement and twisted his head towards them. A fist came flying at him in an arc and the knuckles cracked against his jaw, sending him stumbling.

Both the ferocity and sheer abruptness of the attack threw him off kilter; it seems like doing a year in the slammer wasn't going to help him.

His sneakers struggled to find purchase on the wet tiles and he fell back, hitting the ground. Hoodie stepped over him, placing a heavy work boot on Derek's hand. His face was in shadows but he saw the sharp lips and a piercing. "You shouldn't have been let out, you monster," the man hissed as one of his buddies locked the door with a click. His head was swimming when the beating started.

oOo

Derek blinked blearily as a foot slammed into his mouth. A burst of blood filled it as the boot withdrew. "Next time, we'll _kill _you, you bastard," Blue Yankees hissed, his piercing grey eyes narrowed at him in hatred. "Good job, guys," said the lead guy, who'd pulled away his hoodie to reveal lots of curls and caramel skin. He smirked and crouched down beside Derek, who was trying to lift his head and blink away the blood in his eyes.

"I think we're done…for now," he called to his goons and stood, turning to leave. As the door shut behind him and his friends, Derek managed to crawl to his knees. One of his bloody hands gripped the edge of the sink, and he used it as a crutch, pulling himself up. His knees buckled as he lifted his head. Blood stained his teeth, mud smeared his forehead and across one eye, which was hard to see passed the horrible, black swelling of a shiner. His hair was sticking up and knotted in places and his lip was dripping blood down his chin, staining his shirt.

"Derek?" It was Liz. He didn't reply as he slowly and painfully peeled off his shirt and ran the water, tenderly touching the footprint of a size ten boot on his jaw. His fingers throbbed. "Derek, you ok—" She froze in the doorway, mouth opening and closing, and her hazel eyes wide in horror. He watched water, unable to bring himself to wash away the evidence.

"Oh my god, D. What happened?" Tori cried out, and, over her shoulder, Derek saw Chloe's pale face and sad eyes.

"They let out a monster."

His smile was all blood and teeth.


	4. Chapter 4

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter Four

The doctor who tended to his wounds gave him a short look; like it was _his _fault he'd been beaten bloody in the public bathroom. His jaw throbbed as the nurse made him turn his head, cold gloves shocking the sensitive bruise of one of the attacker's boot. The flash from the camera made his eyes ache but he kept his hands clenched fiercely.

"Mr. Bae, may I speak with you outside?" Doctor Banks tucked the clipboard under his armpit, avoiding looking anywhere close to Derek's direction like he was embarrassed. In the visitor's chair, Tori was sprawled out, long legs over the arm as she eyeballed Derek's hairy arms. Thankfully, they didn't make him change into one of those horribly thin hospital gowns. They'd made him take off his shirt, photographing the bruises on his torso and the cuts, gingerly tending to them with stitches and staples.

"Are you okay, Derek?" The nurse lowered the camera, smiling sadly. She was a pretty black woman, with long braids and familiar caramel eyes, an older version of her daughter, Rae. "I'm fine, Jacinda." He gave her a little smile as she gently took photos of the cuts on the back of his head and the blood on his teeth.

"They really did a number on you, didn't they? Those bastards." Flushing dark, Jacinda lowered her eyes with a shaky laugh. "Sorry." She turned his head and took a picture of the knife wound across his cheek. "Yeah." His shoulders sagged as a heavy guilt weighed down on him. How the hell had he thought things would be different? That people wouldn't hate him, whispering and conspiring behind his back, fiercely? That they wouldn't gawk at him (dressing in all black didn't help really), always bringing up the things he did in the past?

"I'm sure if we talked to my uncle, who works for the police, he could help," Chloe said and he twisted, ignoring the pain that shot up his bruised side to stare at her, trying to figure out if she was being serious. From her sad eyes to her unwavering expression, he took a leap of faith and said, "We can go after this."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Souza." It was Doctor Banks again, smiling sharply and snidely. "The authorities have been called and will handle your violence accordingly." Tori sputtered and rolled upright suddenly. "He didn't _do _anything!" she cried in a shrill voice, jumping to her feet to defend him. Derek smiled at her back. "It seems most of the abrasions he has were delivered after he hit his assailant. Notice the bruising on his knuckles, and how they're swollen, but also how they're older than any of the other wounds."

"How do you know? You weren't there," Derek hissed and the room went dead silent, ac humming as Jacinda set the camera down and turned to the doctor. "I've known this boy his entire life," she said calmly, placing a gentle hand on his knee, "and he would _never _become violent. The only violence he uses is for defense."

"That's not your place to—" began the doctor, scowling as he puffed out his chest. "Shut it. I've dealt with your crap for too long," Jacinda snarled, jabbing a finger at him and, in the light, her fake nails looked like talons.

"As I was _saying_, never once has Derek been the first one to throw a punch. _Never_. And if he does hurt someone, well, you don't know the entire story. You take one look at him, think 'yup, he's a bad one'_, _but you don't know the entire story. You don't know if your perfect little son or daughter or whatever is a little shit; you only know what they want you to see." She placed her hands on her rounded hips, accenting her curves. Derek stared at her through misting eyes.

"Well-mannered, good grades, great personality; athletic, academically excelling, social butterflies. You don't see their nasty sides, the one that pushes kids into lockers and hassles everyone else, and the ones who smoke and drink and snort anything under the sun. Derek is a good kid. He's like a son—no, he _is _a son to me and I'm sure his parents would be proud of him. Both Zach _and _Agitha. As for his assailants—there were _three_—they threw the first punch."

Jacinda's heavy bosom was heaving by the time she was done; sweat gleaming on her temples and her top lip like water. Kit shook his head, smiling sadly at her. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he said softly. Tori sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Chloe was beaming from ear to ear, glowing as she bounced on the bed. Derek stared at her for a minute, curls bouncing on her tiny, bony shoulders, wide mouth grinning ridiculously, then his eyes lifted to Jacinda, smiling proudly.

A huge, overwhelming crash of emotion washed over him. The entire room was hot and sticky, radiating with body heat and love, pure love, and happiness. "Jacinda, you don't—" Doctor Banks was trying to say but quickly clamped his mouth shut at a sharp glare from Derek, who rose to his feet slowly and crept up behind Jacinda. Never in all his life had he been so washed with all these warm feelings that he actually began to tear up.

Throwing caution to the wind, Derek wrapped his arms around Jacinda's plushy middle and pressed his face into her shoulder. Smiling, she pet his head softly, like he was a good dog. "There, there, it's okay," she whispered as his face flushed.

A knock on the door interrupted the Hallmark moment and a man in a police uniform stepped in. He was freckled, with strawberry blonde curls and a thick beard covering the span of his jaw. Two burly, caterpillar eyebrows sat above twin blue-grey eyes. "Uncle Ben!" Chloe squealed and bounced off the bed, racing passed Derek and Jacinda, who were out of an embrace and standing side by side. The officer blinked, surprise lighting up his face as he took in his niece and the ex-convict and the bruises on his face and Jacinda Rodgers.

"So this is Derek Souza." The man squinted, pursing his lips and his beard twitched. "I'm Ben Fellows." He stuck his arm out, hand extended. "You look like your father…but you have your mother's eyes."

"Obviously this is Harry Potter," Tori muttered under her breath and Chloe burst into giggles. Kit smiled as Jacinda laughter turned into wheezing snorts; even Derek had to roll his eyes at his sister's nerdiness. "Ben, how are you?" Jacinda gushed, hearts in her eyes as she fawned over the police officer. "_Excuse me!_" shrilled in indignant voice and everyone turned to the little doctor in the corner, beet-red with anger and a vein in his neck throbbing. "I called for you to assist him to jail," growled Doctor Banks.

"Oh." Ben's eyebrows wiggled in surprise.

Derek was reminded of two caterpillars fighting.


	5. Chapter 5

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter five

On the huge flat-screen in the police station, the news was playing. A pretty news anchor with a ketchup-red pantsuit was standing in front of the woods near the elementary school. Behind her were police officers, disappearing and walking in the background. Light bulbs went off in the background. The yellow caution tape flapped in the breeze.

Ben Fellows looked up from his latest case in time to see the splashed, censored images of two teenagers, female, one with dark hair and the other with frizzy blonde hair and a creamy tan. They looked pale and lifeless, each on their sides and curled up like they were sleeping.

"Sixteen-year-olds Mila Andrews and Amber Long were discovered on Friday morning at six by three local teenagers. While there aren't any outward signs of trauma, the coroner says there weren't any pulses and their hearts stopped beating." The cameraman turned the camera to the crime scene behind them, shakily zooming in on the brush and a sneakered foot.

"That's fucked up, man," said a voice next to him and he looked up. It was Lin Wang, a tiny but fierce woman with a mouth like a sailor. She crossed her arms and bumped his shoulder with her hip. A soft, dry scent filled his nostrils. "New perfume?" he asked casually as he pushed back from his desk and stood up.

"Yeah. Some crap from JC Penny. Smells horribly dry." She looked like she'd sucked on a lemon. "What do you think happened to those girls?" Ben scratched the back of his head, casting a glance at the TV screen.

"Some sicko."

"True."

There was a knock on the doorframe as Wang headed for the coffee machine. It was Talbot, an elder matron. "Chloe's here but wait til you see who she's got in tow." She whistled and Ben set his mug down.

He was expecting that punk girl Tori or maybe bouncy Kari but _not _hulking and dangerous Derek Souza. Ben froze for a minute, feet rooted to the ground as the cops behind him fell hushed upon seeing the big bad Cain kid. Souza looked like he'd been through hell, all bruised up and tousled.

"Uncle Ben!" From behind him came his darling niece, smiling huge and wide and then she slid her hand into Souza's, tugging him along. Whispers exploded. His expression darkened.

"What's up, kiddo?" Ben asked as he took in Tori and Kit behind them. "We want you to find who did this—" Chloe waved at Souza's bleeding nose and busted lip "—to him. He was attacked in the bathroom at the playground."

"I'm Detective Fellows. Did you see what they looked like?" Ben set his shoulders back. It didn't matter how scary this kid looked; he was still just a kid and a kid who got the shit beaten out of him nonetheless.

"Yeah. Two tall guys, Yankee caps. The leader was smaller, leaner. Black curls. Tan skin, maybe Hispanic." Souza looked around and the skittish cops ducked their heads down like they weren't watching them.

"Did you see his face?" Ben was already reaching for his telephone.

"Yeah."

"I'll get a sketch artist. In the meantime, we should take some photos of the wounds. Is that alright?"

When Souza nodded, some of the tension slipped out of his shoulders. "We'll catch the bastards who did this. There isn't that many Hispanic kids here. Mainly us white folks." Ben grinned to make sure everyone knew he was making a joke about the lack of diversity in their little town.

"I actually have a good idea as to who it was," Chloe said.

"Who?"

"Royce."

That damned name rung hollow in his ears, made his blood boil. Rage crossed Tori's normally calm face, flushed her cheeks. Chloe's lower lip trembled at the name, her eyes shining with fear. "If it was, then he's probably not going to pay. His uncle will make sure of it," Ben muttered, scowling as he pointed them in the direction of the interrogation room.

"We'll end this," he promised Chloe softly.

"It's only started," Kit said, clamping a hand onto Chloe's shoulder gently. Souza looked back and forth, confusion all over his face.

Ben knew right then they hadn't told him about what happened since he'd been locked in the slammer and he wondered if Chloe was the reason Souza had been targeted.

oOo

After photographing the bruises on his face and body, Ben ushered Souza into the interrogation room, suggesting Chloe, Kit and Tori wait outside, and quietly closed the door behind him. When he turned around, Ben noticed Souza had already taken a seat at the metal table, watching him closely like a predator.

The cop cleared his throat and settled into the seat across from him. "Tell me what happened," he said. Souza blinked his green eyes and began, "I had to wash my hand because I'd gotten ice cream all over. Tori, Liz and Chloe were in the park; they were playing around. I'd just gotten to scrub under my nails when they came in. Two tall guys wearing blue Yankees caps and a short one, dressed in a hoodie."

Ben nodded.

"I didn't think anything of them, really. It's a bathroom, you know. One of the guys locked the door and then, out of nowhere, the other one swung at me. I hit my head when I fell." Souza's eyes closed, a muscle in his jaw ticking. A wave of sympathy washed over Ben. "They blindsided you," he said calmly, hoping to soothe Souza's wounded pride but the green-eyed boy just gave him a dark, flat look.

"They beat the shit out of me and then Chloe insisted we go to the hospital. And now I'm here, talking to some cop who doesn't give a shit about the big, bad Cain kid. He probably deserved it for being a murderer," he sneered. His face was set in anger but his eyes gleamed with something else, something just below all that rage and iciness.

"Nobody deserves that, not even you, regardless of what you've been suspected of doing," Ben corrected calmly.


	6. Chapter 6

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter Six

After he gave his statement, they met with a woman named Margaret, who worked as a sketch artist from Detroit, and had this permanent scowl on her face that never faded the minute she laid eyes on Derek. She made him sit in front of her and barked out orders in a raspy voice ("speak louder" and "don't mumble, it's not becoming") as he began to describe the main guy. "Dark hair, curly like maybe he was Hispanic. Dark skin, kind of tannish, Mexican or Hispanic or something. He was pretty short, and athletic, like he ran or something. Dressed in a dark grey hoodie and black jeans."

"What did his face look like?"

Derek closed his eyes. "He kind of had an elfish face, really pinched eyes and a tiny nose, but a huge forehead and really sharp cheekbones," he answered, face warming when he felt a wave of awe sidle through him from Chloe's direction. He couldn't tell who it came from—all their faces were too smooth—and then there was Chloe's, pale as snow, a deer in the headlights look all over, her eyes as big as saucers, pinpoint pupils betraying her fear. _Why is she afraid? Does she…_know_ this guy? _Margaret didn't make any more demands, quietly sketching across the smooth sketchpad balanced on her knee, and he leaned back, blown away partially at the realization.

As he took a deep breath, a flood of emotions crashed in a tidal wave through him. Irritation and concentration rolled off the woman but he pushed passed that to sort through the muddle of emotions. Anger, despair, frustration, concentration and elation tasted disgusting on his tongue, like sleep when you just wake up. He squared his shoulders and began to pick out the colorful threads. Green went with the furthest cop, who was talking animatedly on the phone; pink was a young boy talking quietly to a dark-haired woman; orange belonged to a tired, sad-looking man holding a piece of paper; magenta was an irritated-looking officer with the phone crushed against her ear, angrily typing something into the computer as she rapidly spoke spit-fire to the person on the other line; red was a prostitute with a low-cut dress on and ridiculously high boots, attempting to sweet talk with her cleavage to the cop speaking to her; and blue swept around a frazzled Liz, who was speaking quickly and quietly to Tori, who nodded every few minutes.

"Like this?" Margaret stole his attention away as the jumble of thread-emotions spread out, curling back into their owners. His mouth tasted minty-fresh now. His eyes focused on the likeness of the main guy before him, sketched perfectly onto the paper. The malicious twinkle in his dark eyes, the slight sneer on his lips, and the dark tan of his skin; it was the main guy in the flesh. "Yeah," he managed to say, pulling the sketchpad closer to his eyes.

"That's him," Chloe squeaked behind him fiercely, her voice tiny as a mouse's, shrill and wavering. She choked a sob and his stomach twisted in his gut. "Who?" The growl in his voice was far louder than he realized and the entire room hushed, every cop and criminal and victim perfectly still, human statues, their wide eyes taking in his massive form and bruised face and then that wild flash of panic, horror and, of course, recognition. "…Souza?" a voice whispered and he lifted his head, meeting the eyes of the farthest cop, a dark-haired man with lots and lots of stubble on his face, so thick it could've easily been mistaken for a beard, who shrank back into his seat and pretended to be busy with his paperwork.

"…killer…"

A rush of anger that he realized as his own sparked through his throat, hot and acidic, and a blurry haze crawled across his eyes. _That's right, _he thought fiercely, clenching his hand tightly around the armrest, _I'm the Big Bad Wolf and you better be afraid. I'm a killer. _"Derek, it's okay," a soft voice murmured gently to him and he turned his head, ready to glare whoever it was into a puddle, and all thoughts flew out of his mind. Chloe was so close; he could've kissed her had he turned his head up. Her eyes, big and round and the clearest ocean blue he'd seen in years, seemed endless and full of concern; her shimmery, pale curls gleamed and light bounced off, highlighting the red pieces that cut through the honey-wheat color; and her plump, pink mouth was literally inches away from his eyes, so soft and velveteen-looking.

"I'm fine," he grunted once he found his voice but it was far raspier than he liked. He cleared his throat once, coughing into his fist, and continued. "Chloe, you look like you've seen a ghost," he said. She lifted her eyes off the paper, a glossy sheen coating the baby blue irises, and, under a slant of sun that hit across her face, the clammy, pallor of her skin, chalky under a layer of sweat, told him all he needed to know. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and wipe away the fear, maybe even kiss the tears away, salty and cool against the skin of his mouth, and then they'd leave—

He drew a deep breath, filling his lungs to keep his composure. Beads of cold sweat prickled his scalp, the back of his neck, along his back, making his shirt painfully cool and sticky to his skin. "Who is he to you?" The words were out before he could take them back, thrown carelessly from anger-clenched teeth. Her eyes drifted to his hand, where it gripped the armrest in a death grip, and he quickly relaxed his hand to seem less caring. A wave of anger washed over him, blinding him, and he found it didn't taste like anything; he remembered vividly the last time he'd been angry.

"Royce was…" She took a shaky inhale, teeth chattering as though she was standing in the Artic, and wrapped her skinny little arms around herself. "…My boyfriend. At one point. H-he…" He watched her chest rise and fall rapidly and it took him less than a minute to realize she was panicking, freaking out.

"Chloe, I'm not going to force you to tell me." He lifted his eyes and met hers. "But if it has something to do with my attack, tell me." "It does," she squeaked. He nodded. That was all he wanted to know…for now.


	7. Chapter 7

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter Seven

Derek couldn't sleep on either side, so he slept on his back, arms crossed, and stared at the back of his eyelids until sleep slid over his conscious in a black wall. And then he woke up, got dressed carefully so as not to jar his bruises, and headed down to grab breakfast. Kit was quiet, drinking coffee while he watched the morning news and neither of them spoke while Derek crunched through burnt toast with strawberry jam. "Have a good day," Kit told him, barely glancing away from the TV screen, and Derek nodded to himself, pushing open the door with his shoulder, his arms full of an oversized sweatshirt. "Yeah," he hissed through gritted teeth and headed out, stretching out his unused muscles slowly, first holding his arms out to the sky and then to his toes, then he stretched his hamstrings, one leg at a time, and then he twisted at the waist right and left, hearing the crack of his lower back. "Be safe," Kit said as the door swung shut behind Derek.

He started off at a slow, easy pace, feeling the burn of his muscles as his feet dug into the squishy mud, focusing on not slipping. His bruises ached with every step but he forced himself to keep his easy pace, breathing between every two steps. It was as easy as doing algebraic equations in his mind. The sun, having just barely graced over the flat line of the horizon and the tops of houses, peeked in and out of the green leaves, blinding him a few times as he waded through the rain-soaked grass towards the forest hugging the back of house, just at the edge of the backyard. He pushed passed the low-hanging tree branches and started on the path, kicking up his pace a couple notches to a quicker pace. Every step jarred his wounds, and the pain made him push himself further, faster, breaking into a full sprint; his lungs burned and his throat ached with every fierce breath he took in through his nostrils and out his mouth. He ran and ran, his muscles aching with every step. It was almost unbearable, how much it hurt, but he forced himself to speed up, even faster than before.

Eventually, when the blazing sun was burning his skin and drying his sweat in flaky, chafing patches, he made himself slow down, his pulse pounding in his ears, his skin feverish with the flush of exertion. His shirt clung to his chest, sticky with sweat, and his thighs ached, his legs quivering with every step, muscles twitching. The rough bark of a nearby tree scraped against his skin as he leaned against it for support, struggling to catch his breath. Every breath felt like it was sandpaper against the insides of his throat and his lungs, scratching up the sensitive organs. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets, soaking his hair, his shirt, slicking his skin.

"D-Derek?" a voice asked behind him and he spun around, putting his fists up, ready to defend himself.

Standing between two huge oaks was little Chloe Saunders, whom he hadn't seen since the police station, and she looked deliciously sweet, her curls pulled up in a high ponytail that looked painfully tight, not a single hair out of place, and her skin flushed with heat, bringing out her red-brown freckles. A pair of earbuds looped around her neck, one in her ear, and he could see the armband on her bicep where she had a little iPod shuffle strapped on, loud music pouring out; he could hear it from where he stood. She wore a tiny t-shirt, still big on her despite being no doubt an extra small, and a baggy pair of jogging suit-pants that looked more like sails on her legs.

She looked surprised to see him, and when she took a step, her foot got caught on a tree root. Down she went, hands flying out to catch herself, and he quickly hurried over to help her back to her feet, feeling a current skitter across his arm when their palms touched. As soon as she was righted, he pulled his hand away and watched a flicker of disappointment cross her face, but pushed the guilt that he felt rising up in response to being the one who caused the sadness to flash across her tiny, elfish face. "What are you doing here?" he asked before he could stop himself, his voice nearly too hoarse to make out the question, and she blinked a few times up at him. "I always run here," she said, as though it were common knowledge. "I told you a while ago."

He gave her a blank look. Like he was supposed to remember something she'd told him in passing when his brain was too full of the guys who beat him; if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard, he could still feel the feet hitting him, blood bursting his mouth, sour and sharp. "Are you okay?" A tiny hand tentatively touched his chest, right where his heart was, and he opened his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them, and saw Chloe's red-tinted curls. They smelled sweet and clean, as though it had been freshly washed. He stepped out of her reach and shoved down the shudder that threatened to roll up his spine. "I'm fine," he lied, and it was so easy, almost like running. "Bye." He turned on his heel, stretched a tiny bit, and started down the path again, Chloe hot on his heels, a few paces back, keeping her distance.

He found he couldn't voice his dislike of being followed, so he stayed quiet and kept his pace. Every step made his legs quiver, his muscles replaced with Jell-O; her footsteps echoed his, crunching through soggy leaves and twigs, heavy in the silence, gunshots instead of footsteps. They continued like that until the path looped around and headed back to the house but even then, they remained in quiet companionship.


	8. Chapter 8

The Diary of a Psychic Vampire

Chapter Seven

Despite how unaccustomed he was to being tailed by cute girls in the woods, he found Chloe's unwelcome presence only mildly aggravating. Most of the time, she kept to herself, and didn't really bother him.

One afternoon, however, he noticed she was a bit sluggish, slower than usual; normally, she'd be right on his heels, nearly bumping into him with every step, now, however, she was leaning against a tree trunk, a hand covering her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath. Her chest rose and fell sharply with every breath as she panted harshly.

"You okay?" Shit, he wasn't supposed to actually _talk _to her, but that went out the window the minute he opened his mouth.

"Fine," she whispered in a hoarse voice. By her flushed complexion and the sticky sweat running down her face in rivulets, she wasn't. "Just a bit…breathless," she managed, pulling her tank-top away from her sticky chest and wiping an arm across her forehead.

"Obviously, you aren't," he snapped without meaning to and Chloe narrowed her eyes into slits at him, which wasn't all that scary since she was huffing and puffing more than the big bad wolf.

"I'm _fine_," she stated coldly as a sudden white color flared out from around her, bright and hot. Stumbling, he barely managed to grab a hold of the baby tree behind him before the force of the aura hit him full-out. It was like being burnt and being chilled at the same time; his teeth chattered violently while his skin blistered from the inside out. White blocked out his vision as he ground his teeth against the blast. The force knocked him flat on his back.

"Derek?"

He blinked hard as the ringing in his ears, his heartbeat, faded away into the sound of birds chirping and Chloe's panicked breath, her raspy voice screaming his name over and over.

"Shit!" she gasped out. "Fuck, I should've realized—How couldn't I have noticed? I's all over your face! You're a goddamn _empath_ and here I am, projecting—" She broke off, her hands, sweaty and clammy, touching his face, down the tendons of his throat, his shoulders and his collarbones. Her fingers drifted down to his biceps, the bend of his elbows, wrapping around it to feel his pulse, and then down further, resting against his wrist. Held them there, steady, counting the beats under her breath.

He pushed himself upright, ignoring the pulsing pain stabbing in his abdomen. "Don't," he grunted, ignoring the screaming in his back and his legs, where the bruises probably had been jarred when he hit the ground. Slapping away her hands, he blew out a long breath and pushed his hair back, ignoring the stray pieces that fell across his forehead.

Chloe backtracked a bit, looking extremely pale, white almost, and her freckles stood out like Cheetos-dust against the pallor of her complexion; her eyes, watery, were huge and wild, staring at him in a mixture of shock and fear.

"I d-didn't know you were an empath."

His head jerked up wildly. "A _what_?" he hissed, his voice dark and quiet. His temples throbbed with a build-up of pressure as his head swam.

"An empath." She shot him a 'duh' look, as though he were incompetent and hurried on, impatiently, "It means you can feel others' emotions, like a psychic or something." She paused for a brief moment and then added, as an afterthought, "Although not the super fake ones, like with big hair and talon nails."

"What are you going on about?" he snapped, wiping a hand down his face. Sweat dripped off his chin as he dragged his hairy forearm across his mouth, wiping away any drool and blood from biting his lip during the fall. "Empaths? Emotions? You're _crazy_." He leveled a glare at her, but she stiffened and glowered right back.

"I'm _not_. Remember at the police station? You had to untangle all the emotions. And before, on the boardwalk and the ice cream parlor?" She had her arms crossed and rays of sunlight gleamed off her sleek curls. "And just now! I projected my aura too hard and it knocked you to the ground."

"Say that I am an…_empath_," he drawled, shoving himself to his knees. The skin on his legs, underneath the dark hairs, was an array of bruises and scratches, whether from the blast or the beating he didn't know. Focusing on that, he crawled to his feet unsteadily, swaying once he was upright. "What does that make you?"

"Projector. I project auras onto empaths. It can be like a physical blow, or purely mental." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled, showing only a sliver of white teeth. There was a lip-gloss stain on her front tooth and a chip in the other one.

"So know what? We just pretend like nothing has been revealed?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. The action made his muscles throb, so he uncrossed them and let them hang at his sides not unlike an ape.

She gnawed on her lower lip. "I'm…not sure," she admitted quietly. "But we can stay friends—"

"We're friends?" The awed tone in his voice startled him.

"Yeah. Of course." She shrugged a shoulder, strands of silky hair shifting. "As I was saying, we can stay friends, and just take things one step at a time." She grinned now, brightly, and then eyeballed his bruised legs and scraped elbows, the bleeding corner of his mouth. "But we should probably get you cleaned up. I'm sure Kit won't mind if we borrowed the bathroom. Hopefully, he's not squeamish."

He rolled his eyes and led the way.

"Any word from Ben?"

"My uncle? Not yet, actually. He'll call us and Kit once they get a hit or they track Royce down or something." She fell into step beside him, instead of behind him, and kept pace this time.

He grunted and pushed forward, ignoring the growing pain in his legs and back and his mouth.


End file.
